


Semi-Charmed Life

by PhoenyxNova



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Eventual Smut, Junkie Crowley, M/M, Rare Pairings, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenyxNova/pseuds/PhoenyxNova
Summary: When the lead singer of the band Airgasm decides to leave for another band, Crowley, Dean, and Cas must find a replacement. What Crowley doesn't count on is just how too-good-for-him the singer turns out to be.





	1. Playing With Fire

They had been auditioning new lead singers for weeks. When their singer had up and split to join a new band, they were desperate. But Crowley hadn’t liked any of the new singers so far, which was endlessly frustrating for his band mates. They needed a unanimous vote to confirm their new singer.

“Would you just _pick one_ already?” Dean grumbled, running his hands through his spiked hair. “We’ve been at this so long I can’t see straight. They all sound the same to me now.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Crowley retorted. “They all sound the same, and they are all equally terrible.”

“What about that one that sang Ramble On?” Cas offered.

“Yeah, that was good!”

“You would say that, Dean, it’s your favorite song.” The drummer sighed and looked at their list. “Alright, one more for the day, and I’m calling it.” He leaned back in his seat and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of them. “NEXT!”

The door opened and in walked a tall, attractive man that looked like he walked out of a Hollister ad campaign, right down to the factory ripped jeans and polo shirt. Dean and Cas rolled their eyes and groaned. Crowley, however, was curious.

“Do you sing?” he asked, twirling his pen like a drumstick.

The man looked between the three men in front of him nervously. “Uhm … Yes?”

Dean and Cas sighed, which only made Crowley want to spite them more. He offered a smile and held up a water bottle. “It’s alright. Need a drink?”

“Thank you.” The man accepted the water bottle and took a sip from it.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Michael Shurley.” He started to relax a little bit, the nicer Crowley was to him. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.” He chuckled, trying to relieve some of the tension in the room.

“Don’t be!” Crowley smirked, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from his bandmates. “This is Dean Winchester, lead guitar. Cas Novak, bass. And I’m Crowley. Drums.” With another smile that Dean and Cas weren’t used to, Crowley let his feet slip off the table and leaned forward. “What are you going to sing for us, Michael?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably and held up his phone. “I was gonna sing The Show Must Go On by Queen.” He managed a smile, feeling a little more at ease. That is, until Crowley got up and started walking toward him.

“May I?” the drummer asked, holding his hand out. “I’m just going to connect it to our speakers.” He winked and accepted the phone when it was offered, deftly connecting it to the Bluetooth speakers nearby. “There you go.” He winked and handed the phone back before sidling back to sit down behind the table again.

Michael fought off a blush, but figured he could play it off as nerves. He smiled and nodded, taking a deep breath before pressing play on his phone and setting it on the floor. The music surrounded them. Dean and Cas didn’t seem impressed with this guy so far, but Crowley’s interest was piqued. This wasn’t an easy song to sing for just anyone.

But Michael made it _look_ easy. “Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places,” his voice was smooth and clear. It caught all three of the band members by surprise. “I guess we know the score. On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for?”

The three listened intently as Michael sang through the first verse, then the chorus. Dean was the first one to speak up. “Alright, I think we’ve heard enough,” he said. Michael nervously fumbled with his phone to shut off the music. “Can you wait out in the hall for us? Thanks.”

Michael was surprisingly cowed by Dean’s tone, but he nodded and stepped out of the room.

“What was wrong with that one?” Crowley asked, only to be met with incredulous looks from his bandmates.

“You’re high, right?” Cas was almost laughing. Of course, he knew Crowley was high. He usually was, but he had surprisingly good judgement for a junkie. “The guy looks like he walked out of an Abercrombie magazine and you’re asking what was wrong with him?”

“The man had a voice like an angel and a face to match, and you’re really not thinking about hiring him?” Crowley fired back.

“Maybe if you thought with your head instead of your dick, you’d agree with us,” Dean grumbled. He realized he said it out loud a little too late.

Crowley glared at him, a snarl rolling in the back of his throat. “Forgive me if I find myself attracted to someone who _isn’t you, Dean_. I happen to hear the talent he has, and yeah. It helps that he’s a looker. You two have each other. I hope you don’t mind if _maybe_ I want to find out if I have even _half_ a shot with him, yeah?”

Cas and Dean opened their mouths to argue, but looked at each other and sighed. They couldn’t disagree with that, no matter how much they wanted to.

“Alright,” Dean conceded finally, “we’ll give him a shot. But _when_ he strikes out, you’re out too.”

Crowley grit his teeth, but smirked all the same. He had more faith in the newcomer than they had, and he knew that aesthetic could be achieved easily. If it was the look they were worried about, he’d do everything he could to prove them wrong.

He got up and opened the door to see Michael sitting across the hall, leg twitching nervously.

“When can you start?”


	2. Dance With the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets a HELL of a makeover, and gets the chance to bond with the most charming drummer he knows. Well, the only drummer he knows.

“Are you sure about this?” Michael’s nervousness hadn’t faded with time. In fact, the more time he spent with Crowley, the more nervous he got. Not because Crowley was scary, though that tended to be his reputation. No, it was because – and he wouldn’t admit it out loud – he was a Crowley _fan_. He’d been following him musically for a little while now and when he heard his band was looking for a new singer, he jumped at the chance. He hadn’t even taken the time to change into something more fitting for a rock band.

Now, he stood there, staring at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t sure what to think about this outfit Crowley had picked out for him. “I mean … these clothes aren’t really _me_.” He turned, examining the way he looked in these leather pants. He had to admit, he didn’t look bad, but leather? It wouldn’t have been his first choice.

“If you don’t like the clothes, you’re _really_ not going to like what comes next,” Crowley teased. “Each band member has a tattoo or piercing that acts as their signature. Dean has a tattoo on his neck, Cas has a tongue piercing-“

“What do you have?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Crowley smirked and tussled Michael’s hair, stopping and looking at the black mop on the singer’s head. “You know … your signature could be your hair. If you don’t want to go under the needle, that is.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief, though part of him was a little disappointed. He’d never done anything terribly wild before. Spontaneously auditioning to be in a rock band being the first time he’d even considered it. He opened his mouth to say something, but looked up at Crowley and saw the look in his eyes. It wasn’t disappointment, but it was something Michael found he didn’t want to see. “Well, we could start with a tattoo and see where that takes us?”

Crowley smirked, finding himself resisting the urge to lean in and kiss the singer’s forehead. “Slow down there, kid. Let’s not mutilate that gorgeous body unless you’re sure you want to.” He walked over to the nearby table and picked up an eyeliner pencil.

Michael blushed, not sure if Crowley was trying to flatter or flirt. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was much more fun to imagine there might have been something between them. Whether or not there was, it was fun to pretend. It slowly sank in that Crowley was holding eyeliner, and he just looked at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, I can.” Crowley uncapped the pencil and smirked. “Eyes closed.” When Michael kept staring at him, he chuckled and stepped closer to him. “We’re just going to see how you look. If you like it, I can teach you how to do it yourself.” Michael relented and Crowley leaned in, gently tracing the shape of the singer’s eyes with the pencil. A moment or two later, he leaned back again and recapped the pencil. “There we go. Open your eyes.”

Michael did as he was told and looked in the mirror, jumping slightly when he saw how thick the eyeliner was. “Whoa.” It wasn’t a bad look for him. It was different, but he wasn’t sure it was all bad. It would take some getting used to, but he had to admit, he looked good. Pretty darn good.

Crowley also thought it was a good look. He swallowed thickly, realizing quickly that Michael was so much more attractive than he’d first given him credit for … and he’d given him a lot of credit. Either Michael didn’t notice, or he didn’t seem to care.

“Well, what do you think?” Michael asked, looking at Crowley.

“I think you’re just about ready.” Crowley smirked, looking rather proud of himself. He admired Michael like an artist admires their painting. Then again, Michael had provided him with a wonderful canvas to work with.

“Where do we go to get tattoos?” The singer was resolute that he was going to get something done, but piercings made him feel a bit squicky. They were fine on other people, but the thought of getting one himself just didn’t sit right with him.

“Are you sure you want to?” The drummer hadn’t been kidding about Michael’s hair, but the thought of seeing Michael get a tattoo did fill him with some amount of excitement. “Tell you what. I’ll get a new one too. It’s about time for it.”

That did make Michael feel better, the thought of someone being with him. Especially if that someone was Crowley. He smiled and nodded. “Alright. Sounds good to me. But you didn’t answer the question. Where do we go?”

“To a tattoo parlor,” he teased. “There’s a shop I use I’d be happy to take you to. C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.” He gestured toward the door and smirked at Michael.

Michael looked at himself in the mirror again, thinking about protesting going out in public like this, but he decided against it. He knew he was going to have to get used to this one way or another. Might as well get used to it now.

When they reached the tattoo parlor, Michael and Crowley both leaned over one of the design books to decide what they were going to get.

“Pick out whatever you want, angel. It’s my treat,” Crowley cooed softly.

“Angel, huh?” Michael smirked and turned the page to see an intricate back design featuring angelic wings and a fleur de lis. He chuckled and indicated to the artist that he wanted that design, which caused Crowley to arch a brow.

“A little intense for your first one, isn’t it?”

“Who said it was my first one?” Michael grinned at the look that earned him.

“Where do you have a tattoo?” Crowley leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He couldn’t help echoing Crowley’s words from earlier, nor could he help the laughter that erupted from him when he saw the look on the drummer’s face.

Of course, the look on his face was one of amusement, but he couldn’t help but feel just a little turned on. Not that he would say anything to admit that. He didn’t want to scare Michael off. Well, he was sure that was inevitable, but he didn’t want it to happen so soon. He chuckled, trying to shake that feeling off, and settled on a design for himself: an ornate crown he’d have placed on the back of his neck.

The artists led the two of them back to the work room and Crowley sat backward in one of the chairs as Michael laid on his stomach on the table. They faced each other, not wholly by accident. Crowley wanted to be able to talk to Michael, while Michael simply wanted to look at Crowley. The drummer flashed a charming smile and removed his shirt. Michael could see the tattoos that Crowley already had, and somehow he wasn’t surprised at his choices. The singer slipped his own shirt off and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor.

The artists finished their prep and turned their attention to their respective clients. They printed off the tracing paper and transferred the designs to the bandmates bodies, and soon enough there was the familiar buzzing sound of a tattoo gun whirring to life.

Crowley’s tattoo only took a couple of hours, but Michael’s was taking much longer than that. Freshly bandaged up so the ink could set, Crowley sat directly in front of Michael and they talked about everything and nothing.

Crowley learned that Michael had a couple of brothers – Gabriel and Luke – and that his father was a writer. He made a mental note to check out the works of Carver Edlund so they could have something more to talk about backstage.

Michael, on the other hand, learned very little about Crowley. He learned that Crowley wasn’t his real name, though he wasn’t sure what his real name was. He also learned that Crowley’s mother abandoned him at the age of eight, but he was having a hard time putting together _why_.

Mostly, they talked about their tastes in music. Crowley’s was, unsurprisingly, geared more toward rock and alternative. Michael’s tastes were a little more … diverse. Sure, he liked rock well enough, but he liked country as well. That surprised Crowley more than learning that his father was a writer. Truthfully, their interests matched up more than they would have originally thought. They liked the same obscure bands, they both had a fascination with serial killer documentaries, and both read as much as they could when they could.

Crowley would have been happy to talk more about himself, if he wasn’t so prepped for rejection. The more he seemed to talk about himself, the less people tended to stick around him. He liked Michael, and not just because Michael was drop dead gorgeous, though if he was honest with himself he would admit that was a large part of it. No, mostly it was because there was clearly a hidden darkness to the singer that the others didn’t see.

Crowley was so good at distracting Michael, it had barely registered when the tattoo artist had finished with his back. They bandaged him as well and Crowley paid rather handsomely for the tattoos, throwing in a generous tip for good measure.

When they got back to the rehearsal space, Dean and Cas were … occupying themselves. Dean’s hand had found its way down Cas’s pants, and didn’t withdraw itself, even when Crowley cleared his throat to announce their presence. Cas looked at the two of them, and had to admit Crowley had done a good job making Michael look the part.

“Not too bad,” Dean mused, smirking. “Now, if you don’t mind, Cas and I are a little busy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and led Michael back out of the space. “What do you say to a drink?”

“I’d say, ‘where have you been all my life?’” He chuckled, and the two of them headed toward the closest bar.


	3. Til It Happens To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finds out just how deep into addiction Crowley is, and what he sees horrifies him.

Michael’s first show was _exhilarating._ If he had known that being a singer for a rock band was so much fun, he might have tried it sooner. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. The performance was thrilling, but he wasn’t looking forward to the after party.

Sure, the party was meant for him, as a celebration for his first performance, but to him, it felt more like an excuse to get drunk and flirt with strangers. Dean and Cas, as happy as they were in their relationship, often looked for some groupie that wanted to be the meat in their sandwich. Though, the way Crowley explained it, that groupie was often forgotten in the throes of their own passion.

Crowley, of course, saw fit to sleep with just about anyone and everyone he could. Usually. Tonight, he found that there was only one person he wanted to sleep with, and he probably wasn’t interested. As far as he was concerned, he only had one vice tonight. Well … maybe two or three. Alright, who’s to say, really, how many vices he had tonight? He had one goal and one goal only: To celebrate the everloving shit out of that performance.

The party was _packed_ with groupies and fans, and Michael was easily swept away by it all. He found himself _surrounded_ by women. He should have been used to it by now, but he was blind to his own looks. Especially when he knew there were other, more attractive men out there. In his opinion, one of those men was in the band with him. If he could only work up the courage to tell him. They had just met, but already he was starting to feel attracted to the drummer.

He dared not tell Cas or Dean, for fear of being made fun of, and he wouldn’t tell his – well, I guess you could call them fans – that he was interested in Crowley. But he couldn’t very well keep it a secret forever. The chemistry they shared on stage was undeniable, and the almost manic grin on Crowley’s face as he drummed was unfairly attractive.

If Michael was going to tell Crowley _anything_ , he was going to need some liquid courage. He waded through the crowd toward the bar. Some groupies were doing their best to flirt with him, buying him drinks, and the like. He accepted the drinks, but played it off as though he just wasn’t interested. It was easy enough, because he wasn’t.

Several drinks and quite an intense buzzing feeling in his head later, he had worked up the courage to talk to Crowley. Only … He didn’t see where the drummer had gone.

Crowley had spent the last couple of hours in a darkened corner of the venue, as he usually did. With some shady figures, as he usually did. Injecting and snorting substances into his body … as he usually did. His bandmates were aware of his addictions, but they weren’t aware of how _bad_ it had gotten over the years. Well, Michael had no idea about any of it, which may have been why he was being a bit more secretive about his habits than he would have otherwise been.

Leaning down, he closed one nostril and inhaled the white powder into the other. His head shook as the cocaine was absorbed into his body, and he let out a holler. He laughed to a joke he didn’t hear and took a drag from the joint he was handed.

Already, he was feeling the effects of the heroin he had injected earlier, and he knew it would only be another few minutes before the rush of the cocaine would hit him. He was leaning back in the booth when a group of women wandered up, each of them holding a drink for him.

In the back of his head, he thought of Michael. He thought of the singer and how badly he wanted him. Then, of course, he thought about how slim a chance he might actually have with Michael, and how _easy_ it would be to simply bang a groupie or two or three at a time.

And _lucky for him_ , there were groupies galore.

He downed the five or six shots they had set in front of him and stood, holding his arms out. A woman and a man hooked themselves on Crowley’s arms and he grinned. He led them into another room and shut the door.

Michael saw this and his heart sank. He was about to open the door when he lost his nerve. He ran back to the bar and ordered two more shots. He downed one and took a deep breath. Glancing back at the door Crowley and his groupies had disappeared into, he downed the other shot and walked over to it. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Crowley was just … keeping them company. Surely that was it, right?

But he was wrong.

He opened the door and stared wide eyed at what he was witnessing.

Crowley was already buried to the hilt in the woman, leaning down and snorting coke off of her chest. He rutted into her and took another drag from the ever diminishing joint in his hand. He let it dangle off his lip and inhaled more smoke before leaning in and taking the man’s length into his mouth.

“What the-“ Michael was flabbergasted. He knew he had no claim over Crowley, but it didn’t make this hurt any less.

Crowley’s dilated eyes shot up and he quickly separated himself from the two fans. He tucked himself back into his pants as gracefully as one would be able to while riding the high of at least four substances if not more. “Michael, wait!”

But it was too late. Michael was already slamming the door and walking away. Crowley ran face first into the door as it slammed and opened it, stumbling out. “MICHAEL! WAIT!”

“Wait for what?!” Michael whirled around, heart plummeting into his stomach when he saw the blood run out of Crowley’s nose. Whether it was from the coke or the door, neither of them were sure. “Go! Fuck whoever you want! Just don’t…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wanted to say ‘don’t pretend you care about me,’ but there were so many people surrounding them. He wanted to say ‘don’t fuck _them_ ,’ but that didn’t feel quite right either. He wanted to say so many things, but he figured they would fall on deaf ears.

Crowley, on the other hand, filled in his own interpretations of what Michael might have meant, and he could feel his chest ache. He tried to blame the drugs, but he was almost sure that it was something akin to heartbreak. ‘Don’t follow me,’ and ‘don’t ever talk to me again,’ and ‘don’t even think about trying to talk your way out of this,’ were chief amongst the interpretations he had come up with. He sniffed, finally wiping the blood off his face, and the two of them stared each other down for what felt like an eternity.

Michael was the first to blink. He frowned and shook his head, finally turning to leave. Crowley made a motion like he wanted to follow him, but something was holding him back. What was it? Shame? He wasn’t sure he even knew what that was _meant_ to feel like.

 Michael left the party, silently cursing himself for thinking he might have had a chance with Crowley.

Crowley, however, knew he just _blew_ his chance with Michael, and did what he did best. He drowned his feelings in quite extraordinary amounts of … well, quite literally anything he could get his hands on.


	4. Devil In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has hit rock bottom. Of course, what does a junkie do when they're in a serious depression? They self medicate. Luckily, Michael is there for him when things take a turn for the worse.

It was a vicious cycle. Crowley self-medicated for depression, mania, anxiety, and (interestingly) imposter syndrome. Of course, what he hadn’t counted on was the fact that his use of the drugs would push away someone as spectacular as Michael and deepen his depression. So, he used, which only made him feel worse, which made him use more, which … You see where I’m going with this.

It had been days since Michael had walked out on him. Well, walked out on the party, at least, but it felt like he had walked out on him (Mostly because that was how Michael intended it to feel). The only time they saw each other during those days was during rehearsals, and even then Michael was giving him the cold shoulder.

In the days to come, Crowley tried to get clean by quitting cold turkey. He tried … and failed.

He lasted about three days without touching so much as a joint, but when he failed, he failed spectacularly. One thing can be said about junkies: They never do anything halfway.

Crowley stopped showing up at rehearsals, having been too busy trying to drown his sorrows in just about every vice he could think of.

The following days were something of a blur. He’d quickly drained his bank account paying for speedball, heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, and of course quite extraordinary amounts of weed and alcohol to take the edge off the come-down. What he found was, he was at the stage of addiction where his usual amounts of the products made him feel normal, not high.

This was, of course, the _opposite_ of what Crowley wanted. He wanted to forget his problems, not be okay with them. This simply would not do. He slowly increased his dosages until he found one that gave him the rush he desired.

Of course, his disappearance had not gone unnoticed.

Michael knocked on Crowley’s door, only for it to open a little. He was in such a bad way, he hadn’t even checked to make sure the door had latched. Michael gulped and walked into the rundown apartment. He had heard about people spending all their money on drugs, but this was different. It was clear that up until a couple of weeks ago, Crowley had been managing fairly well. Something had happened to make him slip into a drug fueled depression. He’d sold a few of his possessions, as evidenced by various shaped gaps in the dust.

Whatever had happened to put Crowley in this slump must have been _bad_.

The singer wandered further into the apartment to see a couple of abandoned lines of cocaine. There was the sound of running water in the kitchen and Michael went to investigate. Crowley was washing dishes. Well, a dish. He’d been washing it for the last thirty minutes. He had added Adderall to his cocktail of death, and he was hyperfocused on _this one plate in particular_.

Michael could tell there was something wrong when Crowley didn’t look up. He had to have noticed someone else was in the apartment, right? Michael wasn’t exactly being quiet. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, but jumped back when Crowley dropped the plate and lurched backward in surprise. “Whoa! Hey! It’s just me!” He held his hands up, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he wanted Crowley to know that he wasn’t going to hurt him? But that should have been a given … shouldn’t it?

“What do you want?” Crowley meant it to sound more accusatory than it came out. The way it sounded was a betrayal of what was really happening inside Crowley’s head: He was scared.

He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of. That Michael would see the state he was living in? That Michael had come to yell at him and leave again? He couldn't tell what scared him most. All he knew was that seeing Michael now made him simultaneously want to stop using and keep using all at the same time.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” Michael said softly. Slowly, he put his hands down and started to step toward the drummer. “You haven’t been to rehearsals in a few days. The guys are getting worried about you.”

Of course. That was all. Michael didn’t _really_ care about him. He probably drew the short straw and had to be the one to confront him about everything he was doing wrong. Crowley tried to convince himself that maybe he was wrong, but the drugs were very clear. Michael wasn’t there to help. He was just there because he lost a bet.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Michael was infinitely more worried about Crowley than Dean and Cas were. As far as those two were concerned, Crowley was a junkie and always would be. As long as he could still play, they didn’t much care what he did. But Michael was worried. His brother, Luke, had gone through something similar. He was sure this was _much_ worse than what Luke had gone through, though, and he wanted to do what he could to help. He just didn’t know how.

“Well, you’ve checked in on me, now what?” He wasn’t making eye contact with Michael, and it was slowly becoming obvious why. His eyes were dilated again.

“Crowley, are you high right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped defensively. “You say it like it’s a problem! I can stop any time I want to.”

“Then stop.” Michael was speaking softly, hoping that it would make Crowley more receptive to him.

“Yeah, the collective hangover might kill me,” he muttered back, heading back into the living room. He sat on the couch, in front of his formerly abandoned lines of coke, and used a razor blade to straighten them again. Before Michael could stop him, he leaned in and snorted the powder into a nostril.

He was about to go in to snort the other line when Michael put his hand on Crowley’s to stop him, kneeling in front of him. “Crowley.” He showed genuine concern for the drummer, but Crowley wasn’t able to see it. Regardless, Michael tried to catch Crowley’s gaze. “Hey, look at me.”

When the drummer finally did look at him, it was clearer than ever that he was in a foggy panic. What was worse was that he honestly didn’t know why. He’d taken more than he’d taken today, and been fine. The common thread seemed to be Michael, and he couldn’t quite piece together why. He had a sort of schoolboy crush on Michael, but that wouldn’t mean he would become so completely unraveled every time he saw the fucker. Would it?

Michael frowned and started to get up to leave, but Crowley spoke up at last. “I know what I’m doing,” he said. “I’ve been at this for years. I’m perfectly capable of controlling myself.” He reached for the half empty bottle of bourbon near him and took a swig. Because a stimulant and a depressant mixed together made sense.

It was something about hearing those words that gave Michael pause. He found he didn’t want to leave Crowley on his own, and so he sat on the couch next to the drummer and offered him a weak smile. “Then I hope you don’t mind if I keep you company.”

“Just like that?” Crowley’s drug addled mind told him that this couldn’t be trusted. That Michael was only here to take advantage of him somehow. Something inside him, though, recognized this for what it was. Someone being worried about someone else. He stared at Michael, his eyes shaking in their sockets, causing his vision to tremble. Soon, though, he nodded and bent down to inhale the last line on the table.

When he sat back up, Michael could tell something was wrong. Instead of being dilated, Crowley’s pupils were like pin pricks. The drummer rubbed at his nose frantically.

“Crowley?”

When Crowley pulled his hand away, he looked at his hand briefly before his arm fell limp. There was more blood gushing out of his nose than usual.

“CROWLEY!” Michael was absolutely frantic. He watched as Crowley had slumped in his seat and he tried to shake him awake. Gently at first, but then more rigorously. Crowley’s eyes met Michael’s, suggesting that he was conscious, but he was otherwise unresponsive.

“Shit.” Michael put Crowley’s arm around his shoulder and started to lead the drummer out of his apartment and down toward his car. The singer’s heart raced as he realized what might have happened if he had left when he wanted to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.” He almost fell down the stairs leading to the main door, but managed to keep himself – and more importantly, Crowley – upright.

“Come on, stay with me, Crowley.” He finally reached his car and helped Crowley into the passenger seat before running to the other side to slide into the driver’s seat. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

But Crowley was too far gone to object. It wasn’t long before all he could see was one big blur, and then?

Darkness.


	5. Rehab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crowley's unfortunate overdose, he has a chance to reevaluate his life and make some better decisions for himself.

It felt like months since Crowley had been checked into rehab but it had only been a few days. Detox was hell. It was a nice enough facility, though Crowley thought it felt like a mental hospital. In some ways, he wasn’t wrong. He was being treated for mental illness, after all.

He had been cooperative enough that they let him have a guitar, and he spent his time between groups and sessions trying to write songs for when he could get back to the band.

Dean and Cas had decided to make it a point to visit every once in a while, but Michael visited every day they allowed visitors.

He didn’t often catch Crowley unawares, but today he could hear the drummer’s voice rasping out a song he’d been working on.

“Sitting in the back, baby park it or drive. Breathing out the cracks just to stay alive. Earthquake, body shake, joke is all on me.” Crowley strummed a couple of chords and made a note on his paper. He still hadn’t seen Michael, otherwise he may have stopped. “I remember when, I remember the time I didn’t have to take just to feel alive. Eyes black, head back, joke is all on me.”

Michael cleared his throat to announce his presence and Crowley jumped slightly. Nothing quite as dramatic as that day in his apartment, but just enough to cause Michael to chuckle. When he turned and saw his singer, he smiled and set the guitar down. “Sorry, I was just … Did you write that?” Michael dragged a chair over and sat with Crowley.

“They say it’s good for me to confront my addiction in creativity. Addressing the problem in a way that’s familiar for me.” He honestly didn't take much stock in what the doctors had to say, but at least this little suggestion gave him something he could do to pass the time. 

Michael beamed at the drummer. That smile that made Crowley’s heart soar. It was hard to ignore the warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of the singer looking his way, and it only got more intense when Michael was smiling.

“How have you been?”

“Since yesterday?” Crowley laughed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m dying in here. I keep telling them, cold turkey doesn’t work. I’ve got to taper off. They just need to let me do that and I’ll be fine. Can you-” He stopped when he saw that disappointed look on Michael’s face and thought a minute. “How are Cas and Dean?”

“Still mad. Still worried. It’s a weird mad/worried combination.” Michael chuckled and offered Crowley a smile. He could only imagine what the drummer had been through to get him that deep into addictive substances, and he only hoped Crowley could find happiness again. “I’ve missed you.”

“Why?” is tone came out snarkier and more accusatory than he meant it. He sighed and looked down, trying to find a better way to ask. “You barely know me.”

“I know you argued my case to get me into the band,” Michael said quietly. “When I had found out about the audition, I dropped everything and ran. I know I didn’t look the part, and you had no real way of knowing if I’d fit in, but you still fought for me. No one’s … ever really done that for me before.”

Crowley went quiet. He could just imagine how Michael found out. He could picture the conversation vividly. Michael, trying to argue and defend Crowley, trying to help him stay in the band. Dean, snapping at him that the only reason he was in the fucking band was because Crowley went to bat for him. Put his own career on the line for him.

Crowley was trying not to be too angry about it. After all, he had no way of knowing that’s what actually happened.

“What are you doing here, Michael?” he asked, suddenly finding himself unable to look the singer in the eye. “You’re here every day, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.” The memory of that night after their first performance haunted him. He remembered the look on Michael’s face not as one of disgust, but of disappointment. And maybe something a little closer to hurt.

Michael, however, had moved past that emotion. He understood now that Crowley was just trying to cope with life by giving himself a little anesthesia. He could hardly begrudge the drummer for that. “I’m here because you took a chance on me,” he said. “I feel it’s only fair to take a chance for you.”

Crowley wasn’t used to people wanting to stick around. Maybe he was too used to groupies tweeting about how they got to sleep with him before he even had a chance to finish, but it was unusual for someone to want to spend any real time with him. It begged the question: “Why?”

The singer had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Honestly, he hadn’t planned on getting this far into the conversation. At least not today. He bit his lip thoughtfully and looked down. He was waffling over what to say, and it was only making Crowley nervous.

“If you don’t start talking, I’m gonna start throwing punches,” Crowley half teased.

Michael laughed and looked at the drummer. “See, that’s what I like about you,” he said at last. Of course he would say a phrase that had more than one meaning. He looked at Crowley, who just stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I like you, Crowley. That time we got tattoos together? I really felt like we bonded. And then that night after my first show? I don’t know. It felt like it hadn’t mattered to you. I know I don’t really have any claim over you, but it still hurt … seeing you with someone else.”

Crowley couldn’t help the sense of guilt that washed over him. The truth was, he liked Michael. A lot. He had from the first moment he saw him. Hearing that Michael might like him the same way? It made him want to try harder, to be better. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “When I’m using, I don’t think. It was never really a problem before.” Of course, that was a lie. He’d pushed away almost everyone that ever cared about him, and he knew it. Michael, though? Michael had stayed with him through the worst of it.

Maybe that was what drove Crowley to do something that practically no one would suspect.

Now, Michael liked to think he was pretty good at reading people. He liked to think he knew what to expect from the people around him. He did not expect what came next.

Crowley grabbed his face and captured his lips in a fiery kiss. Michael tensed up in surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss, curling his arm around the drummer’s body. They shared a passionately loving kiss for what must have been minutes before they reluctantly parted, Michael smiling fondly at Crowley. The drummer had really taken a chance in kissing him, and really? He was just relieved that it hadn’t totally backfired on him.

“I guess you like me too, huh?”

Crowley laughed and pressed his forehead against the singer’s. “If I’d have known you liked me _that_ much, I might have tried a little harder to get clean.” He nuzzled his nose against the other’s and pressed another, more gentle kiss to Michael’s lips.

Michael was honestly just thrilled that Crowley appeared to be willing to take his rehab seriously now. He returned the kiss and ran his hand through Crowley’s hair, feeling the other man smile against his lips. It was nice, just being together with him.

Naturally, visiting hours had to be over by this time, but Michael kissed Crowley one more time. “You can do this. Once you’re through detox, you can do this. I promise.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He squeezed Michael’s hand gently and smiled up at him.

With a smirk, Michael leaned in and whispered against Crowley’s neck. He whispered something that set the drummer’s skin aflame: “Get through this with flying colors, and I’ll make it worth your while.” He nipped at Crowley’s neck, and Michael stood up again, winking at Crowley before letting the nurse walk him out.

Crowley watched after him, calling after him, “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave!”

Michael laughed and looked over his shoulder at Crowley. “That was cliché, even for you!”

Michael disappeared out the door and into the parking lot, and Crowley was left alone. For the first time in years, he had a reason to get clean. He was resolved to do whatever it took to prove to Michael that he was worthy. That he could be good enough.

For the first time in his life, he _wanted_ to be worthy.


	6. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley gets clean and Michael rewards his good behavior

Six months later

After they had shared a kiss, Michael and Crowley became _almost_ inseparable. The only thing that could separate them was visiting hours. When they were together, though? They were attached at the hip. A good chunk of their time was spent with their tongues in each other’s mouths, though they always seemed to get interrupted right as they were starting to get going.

Today was the day of Crowley’s release. It was still a couple of hours until they could officially release him, so he and Michael were spending their time wisely. Crowley had led them into a nearby supply closet before his lips crashed against the singer’s in a needy, passionate kiss. It had been months since he had last fucked someone, and he couldn’t wait until he walked out those doors.

He was quite ready to make the first move, but it was Michael that did something that surprised Crowley. The singer pinned Crowley to the shelving unit and bit at his neck, sending electricity across the drummer’s skin. Crowley groaned deep in his chest, a low rumbling sound that spurred Michael on further to suck a mark into the other’s neck.

Crowley felt himself strain against the fabric of his pants, though truthfully he wasn’t straining that much. He was wearing sweatpants. No drawstring, of course. This _was_ a glorified mental hospital and they didn’t want to take any chances with people that were in a delicate mental state.

The drummer was already breathing heavily, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap Michael’s legs around his body and claim him as his own. Michael, though, had other plans. He sank to his knees and mouthed at Crowley’s cock through the fabric of his sweatpants before pulling the waistband down to let his length spring free.

The last time he’d seen Crowley’s dick, the drummer was hastily trying to shove it back into his pants. Now he had a chance to see what that signature was that he had mentioned during their first real day together. Crowley had a Jacob’s ladder running up his not inconsiderable length. Michael’s jaw dropped as he processed what he was seeing. The drummer had ten piercings, one for each inch.

“Like what you see?” Crowley teased, leaning heavily against the shelving unit behind him.

Michael swallowed thickly and looked up at the drummer, running his tongue along the underside of his dick before sinking his mouth down onto him.

Crowley gasped softly as he watched almost the entirety of his length disappear into Michael’s warm, wet mouth. He groaned softly and gently ran his fingers through Michael’s hair, pushing himself deeper into the singer’s throat.

Michael groaned around him from the weight of Crowley’s cock on his tongue, and thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have a gag reflex to speak of. The groan sent vibrations up the drummer’s body.

“Fuck, Michael,” he whispered, grip tightening in his hair. He slowly rocked his hips to meet Michael’s lips, gently fucking his mouth. It had been long enough, he was sure he wouldn’t last much longer. Still, he wanted to enjoy this for however long this moment lasted.

Michael ran his tongue along each of Crowley’s piercings, and the drummer had never been happier to have mutilated his body. He tried to keep the sounds of his pleasure quiet enough so only the other man could hear him, but he was only partly successful.

Michael delighted in the sounds peeling from his lover’s mouth. He reveled in them, especially as he swallowed around Crowley’s cock, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked lovingly on him. It wasn’t much longer before the drummer’s balls tightened and he released into Michael’s mouth. The singer worked him through his toe curling orgasm, swallowing every drop he could. By the time Crowley was spent, he was seeing stars.

Crowley could feel the waistband of his sweatpants snap up over his length again, and he slowly realized they were still in the rehab center. He whined and looked at his lover, slowly pulling him up into a needy kiss.

Michael chuckled lowly and returned the kiss, though he knew it was almost time for them to leave. He pressed his own body against the slender form of the other, smirking as Crowley groaned softly, tasting himself on Michael’s tongue.

“I love you.” Crowley couldn’t believe that the words came out of his mouth, but he meant it. Several months had passed and Michael had visited him every day. Dean and Cas, as concerned as they genuinely were, had stopped visiting him a couple of months in. Crowley was convinced he was kicked out of the band, but it didn’t matter anymore. He could survive without them, as long as he had Michael with him.

And luckily, Michael seemed receptive to those three little words. He purred and playfully bit at Crowley’s lip, running his hand through Crowley’s short hair. “I love you too,” he whispered, holding the drummer close to him. He glanced at his watch and pulled away. “Oh shit! It’s time to check you out of here!”

Crowley grabbed Michael’s wrist and looked at his watch, grinning almost manically. “I did it! I made it through rehab!” He threw his arms around Michael and giggled gleefully.

They burst through the door of the supply closet, Crowley clinging to Michael’s back like Yoda riding Luke. Michael carried him down the hallway and to the reception desk. They handed them his release papers, signed and dated, and handed Crowley a six month chip. The percussionist hollered loudly and leapt off of Michael’s back, grinning happily.

It felt oddly … good, actually, to get even a small symbol of his achievement. He showed it off to Michael, who laughed good-naturedly and kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he said, nuzzling his nose against Crowley’s neck.

Crowley chuckled and whispered in Michael’s ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s,” Michael agreed. “I believe I said I’d make it worth your while.”

“You mean, you haven’t already?”

“Not even close.” Michael grinned and kissed the drummer one more time before leading him out to the parking lot and to his car. The two of them slid into their respective seats and Michael leaned over to kiss Crowley lovingly. “Your place or mine?”

“My place is probably a bit of a disaster zone. I haven’t cleaned it in at least six months. Let’s go to your place.” Crowley leaned in and kissed at Michael’s neck, pulling a soft moan from deep in the singer’s chest. Michael put the car into gear and started to drive home.


	7. Feeling This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Michael ... ahem ... "work out" their feelings for each other.

Crowley had decided it wasn’t quite fair that Michael had seen his dick twice and hadn’t reciprocated just yet. His hand slid over Michael’s thigh and began to palm at his crotch. The singer groaned and rocked his hips up to meet the other’s hand, finding it hard to focus on the road in front of them. What made it worse was that Crowley’s lips were all over his neck.

Michael wasn’t usually spontaneous. He rarely even knew what to do in spontaneous situations. Like, for instance, what were you supposed to do when an attractive man was sucking on your neck with one hand on your … erm … gearshift? His breathing grew ragged, and in the back of his head, he could have guessed this would happen after their moment in the supply closet.

Crowley’s hand traced the outline of Michael’s hardening cock, reveling in the sounds of Michael’s voice chanting his name. He purred softly against the singer’s neck, nipping at his earlobe as he whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

Before long, Michael decided he couldn’t take anymore. He pulled the car into a nearby parking lot and immediately captured Crowley’s lips with his own. He lifted the arm rest between them and pushed the drummer back against the door. Crowley smirked and turned his hips so he was facing the other man better, sliding one leg up to cradle Michael between his thighs.

The singer’s tongue pushed itself into the other man’s mouth, one hand fumbling with the glove compartment to search for a condom. It was less because he was worried about protection, and more that he had no lube in the car. Why would he? It was a miracle he had condoms, considering his usual lack of a sex drive. Crowley knew how to push all the right buttons, however, which was honestly making Michael question just about everything. Not that he was complaining, mind you. If he wanted to fuck anyone, he wanted to fuck Crowley.

He opened the condom with his teeth and unzipped his pants, pulling himself free from the confines of his boxers. Crowley took a moment to glance between them at the singer’s erection and smirked to himself. Michael saw this and mirrored the smirk. “Like what you see?” He asked, echoing Crowley’s words from earlier.

“Shut up and fuck me,” the drummer rasped, pulling Michael into another passionate kiss. The singer took that as his cue to tug down Crowley’s sweat pants and push his legs up and against his chest. With a groan, he buried himself in his lover and met Crowley’s gaze with hooded eyes. He allowed the other to adjust before he adopted an increasingly needy pace.

Broken moan after broken moan peeled from the drummer’s lips, which only spurred Michael to push harder into him. Crowley reached between them and started stroking himself in time with his lover’s movements. His eyes fluttered shut from the overwhelming sensation of absolute bliss that coursed through his veins with every thrust.

Michael leaned down and bit at Crowley’s neck, causing the drummer’s senses to go into overdrive. “So perfect,” Michael purred against his lover’s flesh. Crowley couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine, hearing the singer’s angelic voice so coarse and thick with lust. Michael sucked a mark into the other’s neck before capturing his lips once again in a kiss.

Crowley growled and clung to his lover, gripping his hair tightly and pulling him deeper into the kiss. “You feel so good,” he breathed against Michael’s lips.

Michael’s hips stuttered slightly as he felt the car start to rock, suddenly remembering where they were. He laughed, which only got Crowley laughing too. The vocalist started to realize he wasn’t sure what he was doing with his hands, and finally settled on resting one on the back of the seat and the other on the dashboard.

Crowley found himself distracted by Michael’s eyes. Those hazel orbs that made him weak. His own brown eyes darted over the features of the singer’s face, absolutely dumbfounded that a man that gorgeous could give him a second look.

A similar thought was going through Michael’s head, interestingly enough, only to be interrupted by his release crashing into him like a wave. The sounds his lover made brought Crowley to his own climax. The two of them rode out their orgasms, the drummer’s leg spasming and kicking at the steering wheel, accidentally honking the horn.

They shared a laugh and Michael leaned in to kiss the drummer again. “Think that’ll hold you until we get home?” Michael asked, teasingly.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Crowley purred and kissed him deeply.

Reluctantly, they separated from each other, put themselves away, and headed home. Michael was more than happy when Crowley leaned against him, and curled his arm around … well, he supposed he could call him his boyfriend. They had said ‘I love you,’ to each other, and there was an obviously mutual sexual attraction between them.

When they got back to Michael’s place, Crowley was the first to move. He stole a kiss and tried to slide out of the car, but Michael had caught him by the waistband of his sweatpants. “Where do you think you’re going?” the vocalist asked, chuckling softly at the confused look on Crowley’s face. “Someone seems a little eager, don’t you think?”

Crowley smirked and tugged at Michael’s waistband. “You’d be eager too, if you were going home with someone as gorgeous as you are.”

“You have me there,” he chuckled. “But I _am_ going home with someone gorgeous.”

“Anyone I know?”

They shared a laugh and went inside, only for Michael to immediately slam the drummer against the nearest wall and kiss him passionately. Crowley’s tongue invaded the singer’s mouth, his hands tangling in the other’s silky, black hair. Ugh, even his hair was perfect.

Michael led the two of them down the hall and to the bedroom, pushing the drummer onto the bed. Before he knew it, Michael was on top of Crowley again. The taller man worked quickly to pull the drummer’s shirt off, hands ghosting up the flesh of his slender frame. Crowley groaned softly, electricity radiating across his skin.

“I love you,” the percussionist whispered before he could stop himself.

Michael pulled the smaller man’s shirt up and over his head, smirking. “I love you too.” He leaned down and kissed at his neck, hands fumbling with the fly of his jeans. As he worked to take his shirt off, Crowley slid his sweatpants off, boxers following soon after. Before too long, they were both bare to each other, and Crowley couldn’t keep his eyes off of his boyfriend. From his firm pecs, to his chiseled abs, to the deep V his hips made, to … well, you can imagine for yourself.

Michael reached over and grabbed a small bottle of lube from his nightstand and handed it to Crowley. He didn’t have to say a word, Crowley smirked and spread a small amount onto his entire length, stroking himself back to full hardness while Michael positioned himself over him. The drummer put a hand on the other’s hip and guided him down onto his length with a strangled groan.

Even the sounds Michael made were shockingly surprised. He could feel each and every one of Crowley’s piercings, and honestly? It felt _amazing_. He wasted no time, once he had acclimated to the drummer’s not inconsiderable size, in swaying his hips against his lover’s. The percussionist rocked his hips up to meet Michael’s, gripping his hips tightly, trying to get the singer to move more rigorously.

The two rutted together, and it was Michael’s turn to be in awe of the drummer. He may not have been classically handsome, but his confidence made him absolutely breathtaking. The way the smirk played on his lips, the twinkle in his brown eyes, the way he _looked_ at him. All of it made Michael’s heart flutter, especially when he considered it was all for him.

And it _was_ all for him. Crowley was a great many things, but primarily? He was in love with the singer. He had been since the day of the auditions. It just took until now for him to realize how _completely_ in love with him he was. He sat up suddenly and, upon realizing he was just shorter enough that his face only came up to Michael’s chest, sank his teeth into the singer’s flesh.

Michael tugged Crowley’s hair back and captured his lips in a kiss, tongue forcing its way past the drummer’s lips. Crowley guided the singer’s hips to move faster, and when they had reached a pace that satisfied, he reached between them to stroke the other’s erection in time with their movements.

It didn’t take long for them to reach their simultaneous release, slowly collapsing back onto the pillows. Crowley pressed lazy kisses to Michael’s chest and neck, softly chanting his name like a mantra.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
